


centennial light

by ironcouer



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, future eliott and lucas, i just wanted cute domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 13:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18367358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironcouer/pseuds/ironcouer
Summary: eliott thinks about home and lucas lallemant but doesn't mean to repeat himself





	centennial light

**Author's Note:**

> The Centennial Light is the world's longest lasting lightbulb.

Eliott’s mind is thick. Breathing is wading through mud, moving his fingers is weightlifting. He turns to where Lucas had left him an energy bar and a water bottle. He’ll drink some later. He wants to open the package, but can’t seem to move. He sinks deeper into the bed. He draws a pattern into the sheets, feeling individual threads rub against his fingers. Shower. Studying. Texting his parents back. Cleaning their room. _boomboomboom _. He glances up at the window. Right beside it, Lucas had him draw _minute par minute _in block letters, pasted it to the wall. It’s his reminder, not only of Lucas, but daily grinding through times like these, when he can’t, when all that’s available to him is his eyes closing and opening. He grabs a pillow to himself and hugs it, one that smells like Lucas, mint soap and a sweetness he can’t name, and drifts back to sleep.____

____The days that are filled with light, those are good. Lucas cooks a lot, Eliott keeps the apartment clean, and draws pictures for Lucas, which he never throws away. They hang out with the boys a lot, and Lucas plays the piano, and the world is wrapped in brightness, a glowing incandescent lightbulb. Eliott still is so nervous, and worried that everything is going to lead up to an end, a crack, ruined, but Lucas smiles and takes his hands and repeats his words again, and again, and Eliott leans his forehead against Lucas’, and breathes it in. It is all the peace that he’s reasonably allowed from the universe. If Lucas is all the peace he ever gets, he’s willing to take his good fortune and run._ _ _ _

____There are bad days, heavy days, silent days, lies, seven car pileup days, door slams. There are excited days, off days, Lucas eyes describing a fear he can’t place. He’s so high, on top of the world, Lucas an anchor that can’t pull him down, he doesn’t want to come down, everything feels so good, ten feet tall. But the crash comes, and Lucas is always there. The heat of shame never feels quite the same every time, but it burns just as intense. Lucas repeats, Eliott runs, he comes back. He always comes back. Sometimes Lucas leaves, but he always comes back too. They don’t do it perfectly every time, but they fall asleep in their bed. Sometimes holding hands, sometimes on the very edges, chasms apart. It’s still their bed._ _ _ _

____Lucas comes home from university, straight to bed, and moans about class. Eliott smiles and sighs, but neither of them want to talk. Lucas reaches for Eliott’s hand, intertwines himself, and it’s only a few minutes before Eliott hears his steady sleepy breathing with just the hint of a snore. His world is soft blankets and Lucas, and nothing else matters, so he lets sleep take him again._ _ _ _

____He wakes to the desk lamp on, Lucas hunched over homework, tapping his highlighter against the scratched wood. The bed creaks, and Lucas turns around and smiles. “I made dinner, if you want. Just pasta, but…” his words trail off, and Eliott grabs his water bottle to take a drink. “Thanks,” he says, and considers swinging his legs off the bed. Might be a while before his brain can catch up and move the actions to his legs, but it’s a good sign. Lucas nods and turns back to his work. Eliott smiles and feels warmth in his chest. “Hey Lucas?” He turns around, and Eliott smiles. “I love you.” Lucas smiles, the tradition warm, familiar, a ring of home. “Me too,” he says, and walks over to the bed to kiss Eliott’s forehead, while Eliott warms a patch of skin on Lucas’s neck with his thumb, kisses his nose, and Lucas giggles, a trill of music._ _ _ _

____“Minute by minute?” Lucas asks, nuzzling against Eliott’s face. Sometimes all he can manage is a nod and a murmur, sometimes he kisses the punctuation of the words into Lucas’s skin, a promise of everything to come, the good and the bad, the shadow and the sun. Today, he says, “minute by minute,” and rubs Lucas’s warm cheek. He eventually gets out of bed to shower and eat his energy bar, and grabs his sketchbook. He begins a bedroom balanced on pink clouds, with light streaming through blue curtains, and the sun and the moon interlocked above the sheets. He doesn’t give this one to Lucas. He keeps it for himself, to revisit and remember and remind. Maybe he’ll sketch another one, later, with yellow curtains and orange clouds, with a hedgehog and a raccoon._ _ _ _

____He stays up for most of the night working on drawing commissions, but Lucas is beside him, and it’s good. It’s good with Lucas. Lucas had helped nudge Eliott towards freelancing, and Eliott never really imagined someone would pay for his drawings, that drawing would be work. Lucas brings him more and more good things. He’s never deserved him. The days beat on, grind on, flow on. It’s sometimes easy, sometimes good, sometimes imperfect, but always home._ _ _ _

____+_ _ _ _

____Lucas doesn’t have class, but Eliott is itching for some sun on his skin, so he decides to take his sketchbook to the park for the morning._ _ _ _

____Lucas folds himself into the couch. “Take the trash out on the way out?”_ _ _ _

____Eliott sends him a wicked grin from the counter. “Shit, do I keep forgetting?”_ _ _ _

____Lucas glares at him over his coffee. “Maybe only around…four or five times.”_ _ _ _

____Eliott smiles and tousles Lucas’s hair on his way out. “I’m pretty sure it’s only been once,” and is halfway out the door with trash in hand when he hears Lucas’s yelled, “Fuck you, Eliott!” and he pretty sure that shouldn’t make him smile as much as he does._ _ _ _

____Eliott likes choosing sunny days to draw. The sun makes patterns he loves to sketch, diamonds in the air and stark contrasts, circles and squares, pillows and blocks. Today, he draws a corridor of plum trees, sunshine striking through branches and blooming on the ground below, hard and soft. It’s like running, stretching his fingers and making his thoughts granite and acrylic reality. His stomach rumbles, and he closes his sketchbook. He stops by a café for espresso and some pastries, and grabs some flowers for Lucas on the way back._ _ _ _

____When he gets back to the apartment, Lucas is gone, a note on the counter saying he’d met up with Yann. Eliott finds a mason jar for the flowers, but can’t find scissors, so the flowers are a little too tall. He’ll fix it later. Later, he hears Lucas’s keys jingle at the door, and his heart speeds just a little. He’ll never get used to this, thank fuck. Lucas opens the door, smiles, says I’m home. Flowers are in the window. He smiles, his heart stills. Lucas and he are longevity lights, never embers, always flames. Welcome home._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!! i haven't written anything in almost a year, and also am aching for some domestic eliott and lucas, so this was born when i really should have been sleeping. hope u enjoy!!


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